Prologue
Eva's eyes scanned the crowd. As her name was announced, a wave of shock rippled through her chest, chasing off the residual fatigue that had become her daily perfume since giving birth. Was that really her name? Her husband, Daniel, leaned in and gave her a congratulatory kiss on the cheek, his lips lingering for just a beat longer than necessary, whispering, "Told you you were magic, even with the spit-up on your dress." She swatted his chest playfully, cheeks warming, and tried not to cry off her perfectly beat face.
"Let's welcome Eva Winslow up on here!" the host bellowed. "She has done a tremendous job this year, despite only recently having a baby. If this isn't girl power, I don't know what is. This award is well deserved—Media Personality of the Year!"
Thunderous applause rose, and Eva—who still hadn't emotionally recovered from having to wear heels for more than 15 minutes—rose shakily to her feet. Her dress hugged her. She forced a genuine smile onto her lips.
She walked up to the stage, feeling the music pulse beneath her heels. A famous actor was holding her award. He smiled, handed it over, and said something about being honored, but Eva barely heard a word. All she could think was, Holy crap, he is gorgeous. She accepted the award with a polite nod, flashing her media-practiced grin, while her inner voice whispered, You're holding it upside down, babe.
Camera lights exploded. She blew her husband a kiss from the stage just to watch him laugh and cover his face. He mouthed "show-off," and she mouthed back "always."
She stepped up to the microphone, the weight of the award in her hands somehow grounding her. "I am just amazed, people. Whaaaaat?!!!!"
The audience burst into scattered laughter.
"I didn't think I would win. In fact," she added with a dramatic eye roll and a quick side glance at the audience, "I never thought I could win anything in my entire life…" She paused, already winding up for a self-deprecating punchline.
But she never got to finish the joke.
A gasp rippled through the room. Murmurs. Camera flashes turned away from her. Heads swiveled. People stood.
She looked at her husband's face, expecting the usual anchor of calm, the bemused smile. But instead, his face was frozen in horror. Full-bodied, soul-snatching horror. His eyes locked with hers for a heartbeat, and that one second told her everything: he didn't understand either. And worse—he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
Someone in the crowd yelled, "Bitch!"
"Okay, where did that come from?" she said into the microphone. She forced a laugh, trying to play it off. Maybe someone was drunk. Maybe someone mistook her for their ex.
"Fag!" another voice snarled, venom-laced and unapologetic.
The host beside her stepped close. He leaned in, hand lightly touching her back.
"I think you should look behind you," he whispered, low and grim.
Eva turned slowly, her breath catching. On the massive display screen behind her, the beautiful, award-worthy highlight reel that had just moments ago shown clips of her work and adorable photos of her baby had changed.
Her own face stared back at her.
But not just her face—her body. Her and Mary. Naked. Tangled. Intimate. Erotic in a way that made her legs weaken with disbelief. The slide changed. Another image. Then another. An entire slideshow. Her and her work partner. wrapped in sheets that did not belong to her bed, in poses that left no room for ambiguity.
"No," she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry as ash. "No. No. No. No. No!"
She staggered backward. Her brain was a static storm. She wasn't even into girls. She wasn't! And Mary had only ever confided in her. Trusted her. Opened up about the crushing fear of being outed in an industry that still whispered behind closed doors.
Eva had promised her. "People don't care about that stuff anymore," she'd said over matcha lattes. "You're safe. You'll always be safe."
God, how wrong she was.
This was a lie. A violation. Someone had doctored this. Her thoughts spiraled, frantically searching for logic, reason, someone to believe her—
She turned around, eyes scanning for her anchor. Her husband. Her Daniel.
Gone.
She saw the back of his head, already halfway down the aisle. Moving quickly.... leaving.
"Daniel? Daniel!" she tried again, louder this time.
He didn't stop.
And just like that, she was alone. Standing in six-inch heels, holding an award that suddenly felt like a bad joke, while her marriage, career, and reputation went up in flames before a crowd of perfectly dressed strangers and bored celebrities who suddenly smelled blood in the water.
If her husband didn't think she was innocent, what possible hope did she have in front of a room full of strangers? Strangers who'd already judged her, convicted her, and burned her at the digital stake. It didn't matter that the pictures were fabricated. It didn't matter that she had built her career on integrity, that she'd stood by people when no one else had. It didn't matter that she'd held Mary while she cried about being closeted, scared, lonely. All that mattered now was the images and the shame sewn into them. The whispers. The hashtags already forming. The moral outrage of people who didn't even know her middle name.
Eva dropped the award with a metallic clatter that echoed louder than any applause she'd received all evening. She stepped down from the stage, her vision blurry but her spine still stiff, refusing to crumble in front of these vultures in designer suits.
The actor who had handed her the award stepped right beside her, unexpectedly solid and warm in the blur of betrayal. "Come," he said. "Take the back. I'll have my bodyguards escort you home. It's going to be crazy by yourself."
She couldn't even manage a thank you. Her mouth opened, but her throat locked. What was there to say? Thank you for being the only human being here?